We're Trying to Stop Recycling

We’re Trying to Stop Recycling

Gina and I do not have curbside recycling services at our house.  Our recyclables need hauled to a center not too far from home and placed in a large bin for compaction and shipping.

Quite a number of people in rural Clarion participate in the same responsible routine.  I’ve never visited the recycling location and found it devoid of people; in fact, there is usually a line of folks waiting patiently to deposit their plastic, paper, aluminum, and other waste. 

A love of deliberate waste disposal isn’t the only bonding factor in the group.  They, with me, share another common thread: doubt.

Every well-meaning, refuse-sorting, earth-saving citizen has heard stories that, should a piece of stale granola from the floorboard sneak in to an empty olive oil container en route to the recycling center, the tainted container will be the sole cause for entire loads of recycling to be rejected and, presumably, thrown directly into the nesting grounds of some rare duck.  Furthermore, it’s a quietly circulated ‘fact’ that only about twenty percent of the trash submitted for recycling is actually recycled.  In other words, for every ten trips Gina, Henry, and I make to the center, just two yield our intended result. 

Or do they actually recycle all of it?  Maybe the supposed fraud is a myth fueled by people who don’t like recycling.  Nobody knows for certain.  So while we’re standing in line near the compactor, people wonder aloud: ‘I hope they’re doing what we think they’re doing with all of this.’

The recycling example outlines a problem of dependency facing all of us: we cannot verify the outcome of our actions.  It is possible to return to a state of confidence by focusing close to home.

The ultimate method to ensure recycling is functioning at its best is to eliminate the need for it instead of strengthening the governance of it.  A reusable container is far superior to a recyclable single-use container because the user is absolutely certain that the multi-use container is used multiple times, right?  And if everyone who currently frequents the recycling center instead employed their own multi-use containers, then the line at the dumpster would be pretty darn short and the confidence levels of every individual would be pretty darn high.  A lot of material, recyclable or otherwise, would be eliminated from the stream of life.

Reusable containers are abundant. As an experiment I’ve challenged myself to only purchase beer in reusable containers this year.  Thanks to the network of local breweries and their big glass growlers, I can achieve that goal relatively easily.  Straub Brewery in St. Marys features a returnable bottle program, too, which is about the coolest thing on my recent discovery list.  I can take an empty case of bottles back to the distributor and pick up a full one, no problem.  Goodbye, recycled bottles.

Lest anyone decide to sign me up for Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ll mention that libations are not the only product available in reusable containers.  Milk from Henry Dairy Farms in Knox is picked up and hauled home in my own special milk jug.  I wash and refill.  An aluminum canteen stays with me so I’m not guzzling water from plastic.  Our household started using cloth napkins instead of single-use paper options and I carry a handkerchief instead of using tissues.  This is just the tip of the reusable iceberg.

Since the onset of my reusable container journey I’ve found myself frequenting local businesses owned and operated by people I know.  It’s impossible to be the customer of an offsite business in the absence of disposable packaging.  By taking responsibility for the packaging I utilize, I defaulted to being a better customer of local business.  I’m also more deliberate about consumption; more cannot be purchased on a whim at any hour of any day of the week.  That’s an important reality check in the age of click-and-deliver everything.

It’s obvious that changing our habits mandates dramatic lifestyle adjustments, and I think it’s worth the disruption.  I’ll welcome the burden of inconvenience in exchange for the freedom of a trusting, deep relationship with someone in my town.  Maybe I’ll grow more as a person when I’m adjusting my workload to accommodate community shopping trips.

Isn’t it funny that when we sidestep convenience we start eating better, feeling better, socializing in real life, eliminating waste, and uniting on a level that impacts everything around us?  Allan Nation frequently wrote that ‘our biggest breakthroughs are often break-withs.’  This year I’m breaking with the baggage of dependency and focusing on what I can use close to home.

I think we’ll start canning food.  The jars, you know, are reusable.